Bullet Hole, Shampoo Sunflowers, and Soft Sheets
by weapon13WhiteFang
Summary: Guerrero got Hurt. Ilsa saved him due to a miscall. Now they're stuck with one half-naked and the other two years considered celibate. Perfectly comfortable environment, right? OOCness? Possible.
1. Chapter 1

**Authoress Note: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it xD

**Extra Note: **So I was flicking through the HT section of the FanFic section, when I recalled a number written by cedricsowner. I went back and reread it, then had an urge go through and reread any and all fics regarding _this _couple... And then this happened. It's simple. It's bad humor. Enjoy! xD

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><p>This wasn't happening at all.<p>

_'Of course it's not'_, a voice in the back of his head, which oddly sounded like Chance, Ames, and Winston, spoke up. _'This is just your imagination finally spiraling out of control after years and years of keeping yourself at bay.'_

That wasn't so hard to believe... But it didn't make this situation any more or less explainable! It didn't explain why he was stripped down to only his boxers, how he had ended up in what was defiantly a five star hotel room, and why he'd had to quickly snuff his reflexes when he'd woken up to feel something warm and a little heavy, though not uncomfortable, curled up on his side.

And it really didn't explain how the thing curled up beside him was Ilsa Pucci wearing a silk, eggshell white, nightgown, content enough to let her leg wrap around his, riding the nightgown up to give him a peak of the silky white underwear she was wearing.

None of it made any sense. He ran through his head, trying to remember what had happened last night, going over every detail he could. The last thing he could remember was... Was being propped up against a car and bleeding out his side. Frowning, he slowly reached down to touch the Ilsa free side, pressing carefully until he felt a distortion in the skin. Glancing down as best he could, he could make out a still fresh bullet wound about six inches from his heart. He'd been shot?

Drakes. He remembered being at Drakes then going to the Docs after a phone call... Barclay. He'd called for help. Said he was desperate. Had to be if he was calling him after trying to scam him two years back. Let him live after a blowtorch to the back.

When he got there, Barclay wasn't anywhere. His car had been there, but that was it. Gunshot. Right as he stepped on the doc, bullets started flying. He remembered drawing his and hitting two or maybe three before they stopped. Then what. He racked his brain, trying to remember what happened afterward, when beside him, Ilsa sighed softly and suddenly curled closer, her leg sliding up and her knee pressing against his inner thighs and getting really close now, before she snuggled closer and ceased her movements.

He'd actually held his breath until she stopped moving. As he slowly released it, he remembered. He'd tried to call Chance. He was off bad at that point and if his attackers showed up again, he may be in some trouble. In the past when this had happen, Chance had been with him. He'd saved his ass. But that had been long ago. And he hadn't had something like this happen in a long time, because he'd taken precautions for it. But he'd made a dumb, life threatening mistake and hadn't kept his guard totally up. Rookie mistake.

He glared as he touched the wound again, before silently giving himself a mental note to track down Barclay if he was still alive, and get him acquainted with some fishhooks. Again, like before, he was pulled from his thoughts as Ilsa moved. This time her whole body shifted and her head was now on his chest, her leg wrapping tight around his and sliding up more until he she was pressed against his crotch and her leg rubbing until she adjust for comfort in her sleep. He rolled his head back and grit his teeth. He had a lot of control. He prided himself in it. But right now, with his thoughts askew and everything else not making much sense, Ilsa wasn't making this easy for him.

When she stopped, he looked down at her. She was smiling softly, sighing in content and breathing softly, as her cheek was pressed into his bare chest. He was assaulted with her scent as he tilted his head down, her dark locks brushing against his mouth and nose. Expensive shampoo. Some sunflower and tea scent, mixed with a minty undertone and musk from her own personal scent. It was slightly overwhelming to his sensitive sense of smell. But not in a bad way.

He let the scent wrap around his mind, as he was brought back to last night and going to dial Chance. His vision had blurred... He'd dialed the wrong number. He'd dialed Ilsa. She'd answered. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what exactly was asked and said, but she must have known he needed her badly. Because she had come. Her driver and her showed up and she rushed out to him. The last thing he remembered was horror and concern on her face as she reached out to touch his shoulder. After that he'd blackened out, annoyingly enough.

The rest, waking up in her bed and how his clothes had gone missing... Well, he supposed he'd have to ask Ilsa when she woke up. This was going to be awkward. He wouldn't show her it was. But she would be stumbling over herself... And that actually sounded like a fun time.

Taking his glasses off, he set them on the night stand and sighed. It was one A.M. in the morning. He'd slept all day from pain. Now he was exhausted. Sliding deeper down into the bed, he carefully moved her body, trying not to wake her, until he was on his good side and her back was pulled against his chest, his arm not around her, but still on her, as he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. Might as well make himself comfortable before she woke up and freaked out on him.

**o0o**

Warm. She felt warm... And something hard pressed against her back... Something...

Ilsa slowly opened her eyes, fighting sleep away, as she blinked and furrowed her brows. A hotel room. She was in a hotel room? OK. That wasn't new. She'd been in a hotel room before. Why was she... Oh! That's right. Her meeting with the foundation had been far out from her home and she had opted to stay at a hotel rather than take the long hour drive. She been exhausted from the meeting anyway.

… And something warm was on her waist... And something hard was still pressed against her? Blinking herself finally, fully awake, Ilsa felt herself freeze and lock up as she felt warm air on her neck and something shift behind her! Startled, Ilsa slowly glanced back behind her... And sighed in relief. It was Guerrero.

Wait... Guerrero... Oh! Guerrero! Frantic and recalling the prior nights events, Ilsa shifted and turned, trying to look at the bullet hole, only for Guerrero's arms to hardened and lock around her. Her face went red as she watched him open his eyes and stare at her with his intense blue gaze. "Hey, boss," he said casually, as Ilsa blushed and blinked before nodding. "Mr. Guerrero... How are you feeling?"

Guerrero released her but she didn't fully move away. Instead she sat up and turned to look at his wound. It wasn't as bad as last night while she had tried to clean it. Luckily she always brought a first aid kit with her ever since she started working with Mr. Chance and became his business partner.

Truthfully, though, she'd been scared that she was hurting him more and doing everything wrong. She did her best to pluck out the remains of the bullet and cleaning out the hole with the alcohol. He'd grabbed her roughly once, but she assumed that was a reflex for his glazed and distant eyes opened briefly, looking at her, before he relaxed, seeming to realize who she was and allowing himself to pass out again.

From there it hadn't been so bad... Except for when she'd had to get to where the bullet was on his chest. His shirt and jeans were soaked with his blood and she very well couldn't put him on the bed like that... So she'd, red faced and mortified, stripped him, thankful that his black and white boxers were only sporting a few specks here and there. She'd felt like she was violating his space. But when she realized he could become sick or die from the bullet, she'd inwardly prayed he'd be understanding as she finished.

In answer, finally, to her question of his well being, Guerrero shrugged. "Not dead, dude. You did good." And though she tried not to show it, she couldn't help but puff up with pride and blush happily. From Guerrero it was rare for her to get a compliment, besides on what she was wearing. He always seemed to find her dresses favorable. Especially the strapless one she had worn to Connie's engagement party.

A silence fell between them, as Ilsa sat near him, finally allowing herself to take in everything around her. An ex-assasin, immoral and possibly one of the most insane men in San Francisco, was laying almost naked in her bed after she had helped save his life. It was a slight turn on, horrifyingly enough, for her to know that she was in bed with a man who could kill her with one hand. She distantly found herself wondering what else he could do with those hands... Oh dear, no!

_'Two years without Marshall has really gotten to you, huh?' _a small voice that sounded like Connie chuckled in the back of her mind. _'It's perfectly understandable to feel a little restless. It has been two years and two months since you've had sex, my dear.' _Ilsa inwardly groaned, annoyed that she couldn't disagree. It had been a long time. She was by no means an old widow going thru menopause. Dear God no! When Marshall had been alive... They could get very "imaginative", for a lack of a better word, with their sexual adventures.

Scowling, Ilsa tried to push those pesky thoughts away. He was a coworker! And Guerrero! Of all the men to contemplate sex around! Was she mad? Was she asking for trouble. During all this, she noticed he had pulled himself out of bed, gone to the bathroom, and was now going through his phones, checking his messages.

His phone had gone off a few times while she was caring for him. At one point she had glanced over and seen "Mayor" and "Plumber" flash across the screen. She didn't want to know. His undercover illegal activities frustrated her, but she couldn't really do anything about it... And she really didnt want to. His illegal activities had saved their lives many a times. So long as she didn't witness him performing them, she wouldn't say anything. She learned a year ago it was pointless. As pointless as telling Mr. Chance to not do anything stupid.

Chuckling under her breath, Ilsa watched as Guerrero walked around the bed to grab his glasses and slide them on easily, before looking around. "Your clothes were ruined," Ilsa answered, assuming he was searching for his clothes. "I had my driver go out and but you something new... He wont be back til later this afternoon, though. He has most of the day off..." Guerrero raised a brow but shrugged, seeming uncaring about being left to walk around in only his boxers... Which, Ilsa really tried not to notice this, but they did show off a bit... Bloody hell!

Trying to collect herself, Ilsa looked away, trying to focus on anything but _that _image and thought. Dear God she was acting like some horny school girl! She was Ilsa Pucci! Ilsa Pucci of the Marshall Pucci Foundation did _not _go around fantasizing and ogling criminals like Mr. Guerrero! It was unhealthy.

_'You know... You could-' _Ilsa pushed the nagging voice away before it could finish that comment. She knew _exactly_ what it was going to say. By no means could she ever do something like that with him... What about Mr. Chance? _'What about him? You share one kiss and suddenly you two are a couple? The last two years he's only given you puppy eyes and one kiss. You must know he's to lost in his past... But _he _isn't. Guerrero Isn't. It could be fun.'_

Ilsa watched as Guerrero went to the kitchen area and dug through the few contents of the fridge, smirking as he grabbed her last thing of caviar and a fork, before shutting the fridge and leaning against the counter to finish it... And oddly enough, watching him eat in his boxers was, again, turning her on. How in the bloody hell does that work? Ilsa groaned and shook her head. Somebody upstairs was out to ruin her. Marshall always did have a sense of humor. Not funny, Ilsa bitterly thought as she stared at her lap.

This was going to be a long wait for clothes.

**R & R**

**This will be a two parter. Second part coming soon ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authoress Note: **I do not own Human Target. At All. If I did, they'd still be playing the damn show and I'd have changed up some things here and there ^^ I do, however, own any new characters that pop up in my stories... And my imagination when it lets me rule it xD

**Extra Note: **So I was flicking through the HT section of the FanFic section, when I recalled a number written by cedricsowner. I went back and reread it, then had an urge go through and reread any and all fics regarding _this _couple... And then this happened. It's simple. It's bad humor. And it now has possible bad sexual encounters... Yaaay! XD Enjoy if ya can!

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><p>When his clothes still hadn't showed up, Guerrero wasn't upset. Watching the Ilsa Pucci blush and stare like a hopeless school girl was far to entertaining for him to leave... And he had to bite back a wolfish grin from pure amusement.<p>

So he'd opted to take a shower, wanting to clean himself up before his clothes arrived and he headed out. And Ilsa hadn't said anything against it, so he'd simply grabbed a towel and made his way to the bathroom, turned on the shower, stripped his boxers, and stepped right in.

The high pressure, hot, water felt good on his skin, which he could just feel was caked in his blood and dirt and who knows what else from his time crawling on the ground to find a place to bare down and shoot. His only distaste was that he had to remove Ilsa's scent as well. At least her mint and musk smell.

A bottle of her shampoo was sitting on the edge of the tub. He reached down and took a whiff, before emptying a quarter sized amount onto his calloused hands, before rubbing it into his scalp. Instantly, he was assaulted with that familiar sunflower and tea smell... And it was slowly making him hard.

Quickly washing the shampoo out of his hair, he did his best to ignore the slow, dull throb between his legs as he finished up and cleaned himself off. He grabbed another towel and wrapped it around his waist, looking down at his boxers. He wasn't putting those on again. They were dirty. He never could wear the same pair more than one day... So that left him to keep the towel wrapped around himself.

Shrugging he tightened the towel around himself and walked out the bathroom, finding Ilsa in a two sizes to big t-shirt? It was a dark blue and it went just past her bottom... But if she bent over or sat down he would be given a leg and ass show. "Didn't take you for a t-shirt wearier, boss," Guerrero mused aloud, startling her, causing her to jump.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her face reddened and her eyes widened as she took in his lack of clothing and only a towel wrapped around his waist, which he was purposefully letting hang a little low to make her face light up even more. He got a sick amusement out of making her uncomfortable like this. He wasn't sure why, but he did.

_'Liar,' _that annoying voice in his head whispered loudly. '_You're doing it because you _want _her to want you.' _Dude no. That's disloyal to Chance. He has a thing for her. '_And you know, yes he may, but he will never be able to look past his guilt for Katherine Walters.' _OK, damn. Where the hell had this voice been for the last few years of his life? _'Always been here, dude. You just never listened.'_

He frowned. You can't lie to yourself. Not fully. Everyone can try to, but in the end, you aren't doing shit and it's only making things hard for you. Guerrero had long ago given up trying to. He did when he first got into this line of work, but now he couldn't do it. He'd been doing good at keeping true to himself and he wasn't about to quit now.

**o0o**

Ilsa shifted her legs and drank in his slightly wet, just covered in a towel form and she could feel a warmth growing in the pit of her stomach.

This was ridiculous... So ridiculous! It was Guerrero! Why was she acting like such a bloody school girl in heat over this man? _'Because he makes you feel safe and strong.' _That caught her off guard. Where had that come from? _'He does,' _The voice continued. _'You don't feel useless or weak with him, but you know he'd be able to protect you and would, if you needed it.'_

Of course he would. So would Mr. Chance or Mr. Winston... At least the last part. It wasn't that they were cruel or mocking of her... It was just with Chance or Winston and even Ames, Ilsa would feel useless and pathetic. She couldn't crack a safe like Ames, or take down baddies and jump out of buildings like Mr. Chance, or even offer a sense of back-up protection like Mr. Winston. But she wasn't useless.

She could do more than provide financial help and getting them into high class places through connections. She could shoot a gun. Hector Lopez was an example of this. She could be persuasive and intimidating if need be. She was a bread business woman. Intimidation and pose were all apart of her life... And apart of what Chance and the others did. She could do more.

And Guerrero, oddly enough, was the only one who seemed to know this. Sure he would be skeptical. And yes they had disagreements. But, for the most part, they were fine and they equally helped each other. Sure she was still learning, but she hadn't been doing this for years. She was new. This hadn't been her old life. Marshall and the foundation had been her life. And Marshall was gone and the foundation was still there... But she wasn't the same.

Ilsa shook her head and pushed those thoughts away, as she cleared her throat and whispered almost shyly and meekly. "Mr. Guerrero.. Where are you boxers?" her face, annoyingly enough, wouldn't stop going hot as she ignored his inquiring of her choice of wardrobe. It was just a t-shirt she'd picked out during her shopping spree on Guerrero's income after she'd been put on the most wanted list. She'd liked the color and it had felt comfortable enough to sleep in, so she had bought it.

And it was getting late again. She had opted for another night at the hotel and with only the t-shirt left for something to sleep in, she had gone for it... Although, now realizing how exposed she was... Perhaps she should change.

Ilsa rubbed at her skull. This was getting rather annoying now. She was thinking to much. All this over thinking and stress was doing nothing for her. Huffing, she calmed herself and let herself watch Guerrero take a seat on the bed, his phone pressed to his ear as he talked. She hadn't heard his phone go off. She was in-tuned to listen for a cell-phone or office phone, or any phone, go off. She really was to out of it.

_'You're stressed,' _that little voice in her head explained. _'You need to just let go and relax, Ilsa.' _Let go... Let go and relax? She could do that. Couldn't she? Couldn't she just let go of all her nerves? _'Of course you can,' _that little voice, which seemed to have planted itself firmly alongside her thoughts. _'You're __human, Ilsa. Not some fixed up robotic woman. You can make choices and you can accept mistakes from them. That's why you loved Marshall, right? He accepted you as you; flaws and all. He wouldn't want you to be all about rules and regulation all the time. As long as you had fun and were happy, he'd be happy with you.'_

Ilsa smiled, thinking of her late husband. The voice in the back of her head was right. Again. Ilsa shifted and let her eyes roam back to Guerrero. The towel was still wrapped around his waist, but was lose as he growled into his phone. Whoever he was having a conversation with, it wasn't going planned apparently. From here she could see he was gripping the phone tight enough that it might break.

_'Go on,_' her voice companion chuckled. _'No one will know. You know you _want_ to.' _She wanted to... But was it right? _'Who cares! Bloody hell, woman. Arn't you tired of doing what is right? Why not do what you _want _to do for once?'_When was the last time she had done something for herself?

.. When Marshall had still been alive. She would do anything she wanted because she knew he wouldn't judge her... And neither would Guerrero. He never had before. At least not out right. He never showed her any true distaste for her actions... Would he be OK this time? _'He's a red-blooded male and it's Guerrero, love. Of course he will be OK.'_

Ilsa took a deep breath and slowly pushed herself to her feet, settling her nerves. This was against everything she normally agreed with.

**o0o**

Guerrero shut his phone and glared down at it. That hadn't gone as planned. Barclay was dead, and his brother wasn't talking. He'd have to track him down to get to the bottom of all that had happened. Nobody shot him and got away with it. Nobody tricked him like this.

But there wasn't much he could do until Ilsa's driver got his clothes to the hotel room. As much as he was OK with nudity, he didn't feel like sneaking around for other people's benefit, and to avoid the law over his nakedness.

He sat his phone on the bedside stand, and made to stand to grab himself something to drink, when he found Ilsa sitting beside him. Raising a brow, he opened his mouth to inquire what she was doing, when he felt her delicate hand on his lap, before it started to slide up slowly. His body become taut as he glanced down at her hand. "Boss," he bit out as she slid her hand, which was shaking, past the restraint of his towel and gripped him softly. She didn't move and he heard her take in her own sharp breath.

What was she doing? Was she drugged? Guerrero reached for her hand to try and pry her away but she stopped him. "Mr. Guerrero.. I... I want to do this... Please..." her voice was low, almost a breath of a whisper, as she began to slowly, softly stroke. His breath caught and he lowered his hand. His mind was alert to how messed up this was. He was betraying Chance. He'd made a promise to protect and be there for him. This was not protecting! This could hurt him.

_'Then why arn't you stopping her? You could just move her away.' _He could. All he had to do was grab her arm and move it away and get away from her... If he really wanted to. But truthfully he couldn't... Because he didn't want to. A harsher, more darker side of himself told him that Chance should have made a move long ago. Two years was enough. He could have been with her by now. He just hadn't. And right now, she was choosing him.

He slowly let his body relax, as she continued to softly, shakily, stroke. Her head rested against his shoulder as he let her become more confident. She was obviously struggling with what she had chosen to start. He let her make her choices. For now.

**o0o**

He was warm. He felt warm and hard in her hand. The skin was smooth to the touch. The reaction she felt excited her. The fact that it was _her _hand causing him to react like this... It made a warmth pool in her stomach.

_'See? He's not resisting. He's letting you. All you had to do was ask,' _that little voice chuckled as she let her strokes become more confident, her thumb brushing against the tip. She could hear his breathing slowing and catching softly. She bit her lip as a thought, a wild one, crossed her mind. '_'Go for it. Be adventurous. You know Marshall liked it.'_That was true. But would he... Oh to hell with it!

Ilsa sucked in a deep breath, as with half lidded eyes, shyly, she slid off the bed onto her knees and pushed her hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears as she slowly opened the towel and, without another thought, she lowered her head and took him slowly into her mouth.

The taste and smell was salty and musky, but not unpleasant. He heard him let out a grunt and groan as one of his hands gripped and pulled at her hair. She moved her mouth and head softly, testing to see what she could and couldn't handle, before she rolled her tongue to feel and see his reaction. He thrust shallowly and jerkishly into her mouth, and she would have smiled.

She could feel his pulse and heartbeat matching the way he pulsed softly against her lips and tongue. It was a sensation she recalled, but with him it felt foreign and new. Because, truthfully, it was. Marshall was the only man she had ever done something like this with. Guerrero was the only other man, and the last one, she ever thought she would do something this... Risque, with.

But, as she sucked and tasted him, tasting his pre-cum... She wasn't mortified. It was new. And it was wrong... But it excited her greatly.

**o0o**

This was not happening. No way in hell was Ilsa Pucci... But fuck! She was! And... Fuck it felt good.

Guerrero gripped at the side of the bed, doing his best to keep his thrusts shallow, his fingers running through her hair as his breathing became ragged. This was better than any wet dream he'd had involving her. Hell of a lot better.

He was ripped quickly from his thoughts as she flicked her tongue across his tip, and his hand on the bed found her shoulder, as he pushed her back, taking in a sharp breath. He tried to pull himself back. No way in hell was he going to before her. This wasn't going to end this soon.

"Bed," he growled out, as Ilsa looked up at him, startled. He had to fight off the urge to pick her up and throw her down on the bed. He had to be careful. She was still fighting against herself on this, and he didn't want to scare her away. So he reached down and helped her up, standing to pick her up and lay her on the bed.

Throwing the towel to the floor, Guerrero crawled onto the bed and over her. He watched how her skin and face flushed as he hovered over her and stared down at her, hoping she understood what he was asking, as he reached down to grip the bottom of her shirt, pulling up slowly.

He released a breath he didn't know he was holding as she relaxed her body and reached down to help him pull up her shirt. When the shirt was thrown by the towel, his eyes roamed eagerly and unabashed over her smooth, olive colored round breasts. Easily, he reached down and cupped them in his hands, smoothly running his left thumb over her nipple, lightly squeezing her right one. He heard her breath hitch as she arched her body, moaning softly.

Grinning at her response, he dipped his head down and took her right nipple into his mouth, causing her to cry out and push her breast into his mouth. He strummed her hardened left nipple and sucked and nipped, tugging at the right with his canines, before switching off, sucking on her left and strumming and teasing her right.

Ilsa's breathing was ragged and she moaned louder, her nails digging into the sheets. Enjoying the sound of her excited moans, he smirked against her breast, as he slid his right hand down her stomach, past her naval, and down to her now moist panties. He rubbed against the moistened area, electing a cry and whimper from Ilsa, before he smirked, and slide them aside to her bare flesh. He rubbed at her wet lips, enjoying how easily he slipped past her until he found her bundle of nerves, lightly rubbing and pressing against it, swirling it.

She bucked and cried out, her hands finding his shoulder, nails digging into his flesh as he stroked and strummed the nerve, sucking and rolling his tongue around her breast, nipping at the mounds and skin underneath.

Ilsa's ground herself against his hand as he smiled before rubbing and letting himself penetrate past her wet lips and slowly slid one, then two, finger into her moist heat. As expected, after possibly two years or longer without sex, she was so tight. She gripped his fingers vice like and he almost groaned as he imaginedt how she would feel wrapped around him.

"M-Mr. Guerrero," Ilsa whispered, whimpering as she raised her hips and shuddered. "Mr. Guerrero? A little formal for what we're doing, Ilsa," he chuckled, releasing her breast as he looked up to watch her face flush, before she looked away. He smirked and lightly spread his fingers to a V shape, feeling her walls grip and push as he spread her, electing a whimper and light whine, before he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, letting her adjust to the rhythm and feel, before his thumb found her bundle of nerves once more, and he rubbed int time with his small thrusts.

**o0o**

Her hips shook and bucked against his hand, as she clawed at the fine sheets of the hotel bed. How long had it been since she'd been touched and felt this way? An old, missed, sensation of want was building inside her as she panted and mewed in delight. She wanted more. She felt good but she wanted more.

"M- G-Guerrero," she tried again, cutting out his formal title. He was right. What they were doing didn't call for formalities. "P-Please," she grit out, her voice slightly strained. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, as he leaned down and licked at her breast and hardened nipple.

She mewed loudly, shuddering as she felt his fingers stop and his tongue and mouth slide down. He dipped his tongue and flicked her naval, before continuing down. Her breath caught as he used his shoulders to spread her legs, hooking the right leg over his shoulder, before his warm breath brushed against her and his tongue glided up and into her wet folds, flicking against her nerve covered nub of flesh.

He dug his fingers into her hip as she bucked and wiggled, her head rolling back she cried out and groaned in delight. Her back arched up from the bed, her body twitching and her muscles tightening in a not uncomfortable way as she clawed at his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. She was so close now. So close, if he just-!

But, to her annoyance and horror, he stopped. She let out a whine, as he licked and nipped up her body, sucking on her collarbone and neck as he ground his hardness against her folds. Ilsa's breath hitched and she bucked, her legs shaking and wrapping around his waist.

She wanted him. Damn reason at the doors of hell, she wanted him. She hadn't expected it to go _this _far, but now that it had, she didn't want him to stop. "P-Please...," Ilsa whispered against his ear as he nipped and bit at her earlobe.

**o0o**

"P-Please..."

That was all he needed. Her begging, the pure want in her shaky voice, was sending him over the edge. His face buried against the crook of her neck, he reached down and rubbed his tip up and down her wet folds, before positioning the head at her entrance, before slowly, carefully sliding until the tip penetrated past her folds. He grit his teeth as her walls clamped down on his head, before swiftly, he pressed and plunged, burying his full length into her.

He groaned against her neck, gritting his teeth. Damn! She was... She was tighter than he was fully expecting. She'd felt tight around his fingers, but this was.. Fuck. He tried to fight the urge to pound into her, to take it slow and easy. But when she whined and licked and nipped at his ear, her legs tightening around his waist, he lost it.

With an animalistic growl, he drew himself out to the tip, before roughly plunging into her, electing a loud, ear piercing, scream of pleasure, as he rocked and moved his hips, plunging deep and roughly into her. Their sweat covered skin slapped against each other as Guerrero gripped her waist and pulled her to him. Ilsa's hips arched as he got on his knees and drew her waist and body even closer, watching her breast bounce as he plunged into her wet, warm heat.

Her face and chest and stomach were flushed as she rolled her head back, her lips parted, her hair sprawled across the sheet, her arms above her head as she gripped at her pillow and the headboard. She rolled her hips to meet his and Guerrero almost allowed himself to cum at the lust filled look she gave him though half-lidded eyes.

But he held back. He wouldn't cum. Not before her. He had a reputation for not letting himself cum before the woman, and he'll be damned if he didn't do it now. He could feel she was close, but still holding on. Growling, he reached down and grabbed her right leg and lifted it up, throwing it over her shoulder and turning her body, plunging even deeper into her wet core, electing a pure, un-muffled, scream of ecstasy as she threw her head back and clawed at her pillow. She was so close. And she was stubbornly trying to hold out. He could see that she wanted him to end first. Not gonna happen, boss.

Grinning, he released her leg, but twisted her body and lifted her up until she was on her knees and her back against his chest as she was pushed against the headboard, her breast squished and slapping against the mahogany wood, as he reached down and fingered her. Her head rolled back and she wailed in pleasure, rolling and grinding her hips as he thrust and bucked into her.

Her walls tightened and pulsed around him as he growled. He was so close. If he didn't get her soon, he'd loose. He twisted and pinched her swollen nerve of flesh, and she clawed up the wall and gripped the headboard, pushing back against him before he sat back on the bed and pulled her down on top of him, bouncing her up and down, fingering and roughly pinching and tugging on her until she gripped him as hard as possible, wailing as she finally came. As soon as he felt her release, he let out a guttural cry, before releasing his load finally, gritting his teeth as he held her close.

She twitched and stiffened around him, before she became slack and fell back against him. Guerrero wrapped his arms around her and carefully held her close, before lifting her off him and laying them both down. He buried his face into the back of her neck as he once again pressed her back to his chest, getting comfortable as she begin to drift off, her body spent and weak. When she finally fell asleep, he slipped off his glasses and silently fell asleep after setting them aside.

**o0o**

She didn't know how long she had slept, but she felt... Refreshed and... And less tense.

Her eyes fluttered open as she sat up slowly. She blinked and yawned, furrowing her brows as she felt she should remember something... Before it all came back to her. Her face became hot, as she looked behind her, startled and, was it sad? Sad to find that Guerrero wasn't anywhere. As for why she was sad, she didn't know... Well... Now that she thought about it.. She was more disappointed. She had wanted to talk about this. About what had happened.

Sighing in frustration, Ilsa threw her legs over the side of the bed and winced as a pain shot up between her legs. Wonderful... Was this what they called "The walk of shame"? She had honestly never thought she'd find herself in this kind of situation. Rubbing her inner thighs, she sighed and winced as she got to her feet and walked to the bathroom to shower.

She turned on the water and stepped in, letting the warm, burning, water wash away her aches and pains, sighing in delight. She stood and removed her aches for hours until her skin was starting to get pruney. She quickly washed her hair, before stepping out and grabbing a towel. She dried off her skin, and wrapped the towel around her body, before grabbing another towel to dry her hair as she walked out the door, almost jumping and screaming as she found Guerrero sitting at the small hotel table with what looked like a McDonald pancake breakfast?

He sipped a glass of warm tea and gestured to a cup of coffee made ready for her, as she walked to the table and raised a brow. He gestured for her to sit, pushing the pancake breakfast in-front of her as he opened his own and began to eat his platter.

They were silent, but not uncomfortable. He was dressed. A simple red t-shirt and jeans and his boots. Ilsa thought about going to at least put some clothes on, but shook her head. He'd seen all of her last night... And oddly enough, she was content to eat in her towel with him. So she sipped her coffee and began to eat her breakfast quietly with him.

They didn't say a word to each other... And she was fine with that. Even when they both finished and he grabbed the rest of his stuff and his bloodied clothes and left with a nod, she was OK. Because what had happen between them hadn't made things awkward like she had absently thought they would. Instead she felt... Thankful. He had done something to help her, whether he knew it or not. He'd helped her let go. And hey! He had gotten something out of it as well. They were on equal agreement with each other. No words were needed to confirm that.

Ilsa smiled as she stripped off her towel and walked to the small closet to put on her new outfit. She was going to be late for work.

**o0o**

"You're not even going to give me a hint of who it was and why you missed out on movie night last night?"

Guerrero grabbed his third cup of tea this morning and shrugged, watching Chance give him his puppy dog eyes and pout. It wasn't going to work. It never really did. He usually just got tired from listening to the blond male beg. But this time... This time he thought it best to keep his answer to himself. Like he knew she would.

Ames, who had been reading some celeb magazine, smirked as Guerrero sat across from her and flipped open his phone to text back to three missed texts he'd gotten. "She must have been good. You're almost glowing... It's kind of creepy." Guerrero shot her a look, but again said nothing, as he went back to his phone and the elevator dinged.

He heard the clicking of heels but didn't look up. Or even when she said hello to everyone. He was going to play like nothing had happened. She was, thankfully, doing the same. She acknowledged him and scowled at him for leaving his dirty cups on the counter, like always, before she poured herself a cup of coffee and chatted with Winston about a call he'd received from a possible client who was being stalked apparently.

"Mr Guerrero," Ilsa suddenly called, causing him to finally look up at her. He just made out the smallest smile and twinkle in her eyes, before she sighed. "If you wouldn't mind, I would greatly appreciate if you would look at the conference room computer. Its been acting up the last few days and I trust you could fix it faster than anyone I could hire?" she tilted her head and he shrugged. "I'll look at it if my schedules open, boss."

Ilsa sighed. "Please see that you do." And with that she gave him one last look, that small sparkle there, before she turned and made her way to her office, her high heels clicking. Rolling his eyes, he went back to his phone, frowning as he looked up, feeling eyes on him. Ames's eyes.

Her eyes were wide and her mouth was a-gap. "No way!" she loudly exclaimed. Guerrero froze and inwardly cursed. Of course Ames would notice. Unlike Chance and Winston, Ames was faster at picking up interactions between people. She would notice something was off, no matter how much they tried to cover it up. Fuck.

"What are you yelling about?" Winston scowled as he walked into the kitchen. Guerrero shot her his best murderous look, and Ames visibly gulped. "No way! Katy Perry is thinking of cutting her hair!" She lamely tried. But it seemed to be enough for Winston, who rolled his eyes before walking off to the living-room to yell at Chance for the mess he'd left all over last night.

"Keep your mouth shut. Or I'll staple it shut," Guerrero casually ordered, and Ames nodded, looking back at her magazine, as Guerrero nodded in satisfaction, before again returning to his missed messages.

**R & R Plz**


End file.
